Rust in the panes

img_0009One of those mornings when I wake up with the weirdest series of nightmares and am in between reality and non-reality. And waking up to read your text – why has the world reduced connections, distances and relations to just text. Am I to read between the lines, am I to notice the differences after all these years? Should it even matter? I have learnt to know the nuances, to realise the good or bad in the subtle, grown accustomed to your habits and how at the same time you will consider my heart’s desires. I have been accustomed or made to believe this is how it should ideally be. Or maybe it is all dust in the window, rust in the panes and shadows in the wind. Why did you do what you did not do? I have questions for you – for you before and for you now. Most of all questions for myself – was I never understanding enough, good enough and worthy enough? Was I never strong enough, kind enough and loving enough. Was l a figment of our imagination, and what we (I) built to end, was never built but just a short, sad, passing? Constructs are as real as you want it to be, but fundamentally, it was your construct, never mine. I was a result of your construct. It should not matter, but it did, because it was just far too long and far too much built up, and far too carried away. I did not want the rust, you see. I built this for a reasonable warmth and shine in the sun. I did not want the rust in the pane.


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